Faith rises beneath my feet
to stand at the side of an angel,
for I am old enough to know
that neither life nor love is a dream,
that thirst comes by absence
and wants drift upon moon light;
young enough to find my heart in tender hands
and she is a yellow flower,
touched by breath of winds;
and I went to her, to opened hand
put my kiss into waiting palm
with my eyes, asked her to stay.
Her gaze, calm wide eyes, made of night and sadness
raised pieces of my soul to my skin
and I waited
for the turning of a tide
for the pull of silvered skies
a whisper upon my eyes;
and wait there ...still.
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